


Our Last Night On Earth

by fairy911911



Series: 30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Angst, Angst and Porn, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Cas, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 19:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2080686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairy911911/pseuds/fairy911911
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want him gone,” Dean barked.</p><p>Cas of course knew what he was talking about. The other Dean. The old Dean. The Dean that hadn't watched all his loved ones die because the devil took over Sam. The Dean that wasn’t humanity’s fearless leader and last hope.</p><p>“Why?” he asked, barely able to contain the smug smile creeping on his lips. “I like him.”</p><p>“Of course you would,” he sneered.</p><p>“Yeah, he’s from 2009. Back when you cared.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Last Night On Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Day 30: ~~Zombie AU~~ I did Endverse because Croats are close enough to zombies and I wanted to do this for a while and it's Croatoan week, so...
> 
> This is set right between Dean telling the plan at the cabin and everyone getting in the cars to head to Detroit. I gave them a few hours to sleep.
> 
> This is my first time writing smut, ever, so sorry if it sucks.
> 
> I don't own supernatural or the characters, only the words.

Cas laid back on his bed, the smoke from his joint floating above his head. The musty smell of weed and sex engulfed him. The stench had penetrated the walls and furniture. It would never leave.

He moved to place the joint on the frayed wicker table next to him and the entire bed creaked. The old wooden frame was rotting to the core. It wouldn’t last much longer, not that it really needed to. He knew what Dean was planning with the Colt: in a few hours they would head out on a suicide mission to kill the devil. Not that anyone else knew or that Dean had told him. But he knew the hunter, even in the twisted version that he had become, and he knew what Dean would do to save the world.

As if on cue, the man in question barged into Cas’s room. Cas could see the fire in his eyes, the tension in his face as he scowled.

“I want him gone,” Dean barked, standing over Cas in some childish attempt to dominate the space.

Cas of course knew what he was talking about. The other Dean. The old Dean. The Dean that hadn’t watched all his loved ones die because the devil took over Sam. The Dean that wasn’t humanity’s fearless leader and last hope.

“Why?” he asked, barely able to contain the smug smile creeping on his lips. “I like him.”

Dean shot him a bitch face that would have rivaled the ones of the great late Sam Winchester. “Of course you would,” he sneered.

“Yeah, he’s from 2009. Back when you cared.”

The murderous glare Cas received from Dean was priceless, and completely expected. Although Dean hated it, Cas still knew everything about him. And whether he would admit it or not, that comment stung. At least if it was from Cas it would.

Dean leaned over him, invading his personal space. Somewhere in the back of his mind Cas laughed at the irony. “We don’t have the time to care.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Cas sat up abruptly, causing Dean to stumble back. He wasn’t going to be intimidated by his best friend. He might have been pathetically human and high as fuck, but at one point he was Castiel, angel of the lord, and he wasn’t going to take Dean’s shit.

“I like him,” he stated slowly, keeping his eyes locked on Dean’s green ones, “because that’s the Dean I rebelled for, I fell for, I cared for. And that’s the Dean that loved me back, not the hollow shell you are.”

Cas could see Dean shifting uncomfortably, itching to do something other than stand there and take it. The man wanted to run, or maybe throttle him; Cas couldn’t be sure. Dean glared at his shoes, the wall, anywhere but Cas.

“That wasn’t love, Cas,” he eventually mumbled.

“Bullshit,” he shot back. “We both remember when it was just the two of us on the road and in the darkness of the motel rooms you would whisper it to me.”

And the sad thing was he believed it. And although Sam was gone and God was gone and Lucifer out of the pit, he’d had Dean and he’d been happy. It was Dean and him against the world, together on the hunts and in the car and in the bed. And in a way it had been perfect.

But then Sam said yes. And everything went to shit. The angels had left; Cas couldn’t get back to heaven and started becoming more and more human. Dean had pleaded to nothing in the sky, screaming yes all night until the sun began to rise and Cas had to drag him inside for sleep.

The virus hit next. Suddenly they were in charge of civilians. The last of humanity. And each day Dean grew more cold and distant. Cas did everything to get his attention; hell he wasted himself on drugs and booze and women just to piss Dean off enough to get him to notice. It never worked, and soon that seemed to be all that Cas had.

And, yeah, they still had sex, still fucked on a regular basis, but now it was rough and angry and void of any compassion. And Cas still took it, because having something with Dean was better than nothing.

And now Dean was trying to tell him that wasn’t real either. He rose off the bed and stomped in front of Dean, demanding his attention and space.

“Don’t you dare tell me that wasn’t real. I gave everything up for you. I would go to the ends of the earth for you.” He let out a sour laugh. “Hell, I’m doing that tomorrow.”

Dean’s eyes grew wide. “You know?”

“I know _you_ and how stupid your plans are.”

“Then why are you coming,” he demanded.

Because he loved Dean, even now. Because he had already given everything and had nothing else to lose. Because he knew Dean was going to die, so what was the point of living?

“You know.”

The two stared at each other, neither one backing down. Cas’s eyes challenged the empty green ones in front of his. And if he squinted like he used to, he could almost believe there was a light inside of them again.

“So last night on Earth,” he mused. “What were you planning on doing?”

Dean’s answer was a small furrowing of his brow. “Oh come on, you know how this goes,” Cas prompted. “You tell me I’m stealing your best line, or,” he gave a small, breathy laugh, “you say you were planning on just sitting there quietly. Remember that night? Waiting for Raphael and you tried to get me laid at the whore house. Wouldn't take that much effort now.” Cas paused, inspecting his bare feet. “You said it was the most fun you’d had in ages.”

Cas glanced up to see Dean still glaring at him. He was so statue-like, so cold and unmoving. “Dean please say something,” he begged.

Whatever Cas had expected, it wasn’t Dean shoving Cas against the wall and pushing his lips against the other man’s, that’s for sure.

\----------

Dean couldn’t take it anymore. He launched himself at Cas, pressing a bruising kiss against the other’s lips. He gripped Cas tightly, his fingertips squeezing the other’s skin, his body pressed flush against his torso. Dean was afraid if he relaxed even slightly Cas would push him away. But Cas’s fists came up to cling to Dean’s shirt and his mouth started to move against his.

The kiss was all tongue and teeth, biting and sucking, rough and needy. Dean shoved a hand into Cas’s hair, fisting a section of it in his hands and yanking his head to the side. Cas let out a small yelp at the unexpected pain, but was quickly replaced by a moan when Dean began nipping at his neck.

“Dean,” Cas breathed as he found a particularly sensitive spot. Dean knew every inch of Cas’s body. Over the years together he had mapped it out a hundred times, a thousand times. He’d lost count.

He could lie and say this was only for sexual release, or that he was complying to Cas’s wishes and nothing else, but the swelling hardness in his jeans, just from the noise Cas made, ruined his bluff. Dean rubbed up against Cas, not caring how he looked, only concerned with getting off.

He slotted his thigh between Cas’s legs, and he could feel just how much Cas wanted this. Wanted him.

The two held on to each other, rutting against each other and sucking at the other’s skin. But Dean wanted more, needed more. He gripped Cas by the shoulders and pushed to his knees.

Cas seemed to get the memo. He hastily undid Dean’s jeans, letting them fall slightly off his hips. Cas leaned into his crotch and nuzzled his confined erection. Dean didn’t need that kind of teasing tonight. He needed to get off, damnit.

He smacked his cheek. Cas flashed him a smug look through his long lashes, but pulled down Dean’s boxers, none the less. Dean hissed as his dick sprung out and hit his stomach. Cas’s fingers gently stroked the sides of his shaft, giving him the tiniest amount of friction until Cas’s lips wrapped around the head of his cock.

He gave a hard suck, and Dean’s eyes fell closed automatically. His hand came up to rest at the back of Cas’s head, gripping the short hairs there. He could feel Cas bob along his shaft at a steady pace. It felt good but wasn’t enough. He tugged at Cas’s head so he would stop moving and began to pound into his face. Dean was hitting the back of his throat every time. Cas took it, and with each thrust Dean could hear Cas choke, struggling to breathe around his dick.

Dean opened his eyes to make sure he was okay, but what he met was Cas’s bright blue eyes staring back at him. They were watery from the gagging, but also full of such deep emotion. Affection. Love. Even now. Dean could almost imagine it was Cas from a few years ago.

But then he saw the redness from drugs and limp, greasy, unwashed hair and the scratchy stubble that would soon be a beard because he hardly shaved anymore. He saw what Cas had become; he saw what he had forced him to become. He couldn’t take that kind of guilt staring him in the face.

He pushed Cas off with an audible pop. The man looked confused, and almost hurt. But Dean pulled him off and shoved him towards the bed. Cas knew where this was headed. He shrugged off his tunic and cotton pants, keeping eye contact with Dean the entire time. When completely naked he crawled onto the bed on his knees. He assumed the position:  head on the blanket, ass up, presenting to Dean.

Dean came up behind him. He inserted 2 fingers into Cas’s hole. He was still prepped and wet from whatever orgy or shit he did without Dean. His fingers gave a few short pumps, eliciting a small moan from Cas. He was ready. He drew out the fingers from Cas’s heat. Dean pushed his pants and boxers down around his thighs, leaving his clothing on, unlike Cas. He lined the blunt head of his dick up with Cas’s hole, and in one swift move pushed all the way in.

Cas’s voice hitched at the intrusion. Dean couldn’t tell if it was in pleasure or pain, but he didn’t tell him to stop. Dean pulled out and rammed in again.

He kept a steady rhythm: hard and fast, with Cas trying to match his thrusts. Dean moved on leg onto the bed and wrapped an arm around Cas. Not in a show of intimacy. It was for balance.

Neither said anything. The hot, suffocating August air was silent except for the smacking of skin on skin.

Dean’s thrusts were mechanical: hard and cold and lacking all emotional connection. That’s what Cas had come to expect. He didn’t need to know how Dean’s eyes were beginning to water, or how a tear had escaped and was rolling down his cheek. Cas didn’t have to know that Dean wished that it could be different, that they would be able to do this right, that he still loved Cas, but it was a weakness he couldn’t afford to have. So he fucked him into the mattress and told him it meant nothing.

And if Dean could hear the tears from Cas, out of pain or anger or sadness, well, no one had to know.

Cas reached back and wrapped his hand around his dick. He started pumped to the rhythm Dean created, and he could tell neither one of them was going to last much longer.

He sped up his pace, pressing hard into Cas. He put his other leg on the bed and pulled Cas up against him. At the change of angle Cas arched back with a loud moan. He must have hit his prostate. He pressed up into Cas while pushing him down to meet his thrusts. Cas just held on for the ride, his had violent jerking himself off.

Suddenly, Cas arched against Dean and hot, white stripes were shooting onto the blanket. He clenched around Dean, and that was enough to send him over the edge. He bit down on Cas’s neck has he filled Cas with his cum.

All tension and resolve to stay upright melted out of Dean’s body. He fell forward, bringing Cas down with him. The two lay there, completely boneless, taking breaths together as if they were one person.

But they weren't.

Dean pulled out of Cas and pushed himself off of the bed. He tucked himself in and smoothed out his shirt. He could hardly tell he’d just been fucking Cas. He’d made the move to leave when he felt Cas’s hand grip his wrist.

“Don’t leave,” he said, unable to look Dean in the eye. It was barely above a whisper.

If Dean didn’t lie to himself, he would have admitted that, on his final night on Earth, all he wanted was Cas. He would have crawled back on that bed and kiss him, softly and sweetly. He would have told him how sorry he was and how much he need Cas. In the dark he would have said I love you, just like he had so many nights ago.

But Dean had been lying to himself for a long time.

He walked out of the room, leaving Cas alone on the bed. He stepped out into the hot summer night. In a few hours they were going to leave to hunt the devil. He didn’t have time to care.


End file.
